


Back to You

by Raptor_Redemption



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Backward Time Travel to Academy Era, M/M, Post-Canon, Relationship Problems, Time Travel, Trans Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 06:28:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28559073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raptor_Redemption/pseuds/Raptor_Redemption
Summary: Years beyond the turmoil of war, Duke Fraldarius and Margrave Gautier no longer share a bed. Annette visits from Fhirdiad with a custom spell to set things right—if she cannot revive Felix and Sylvain's relationship, she claims at least that she can help Felix get some sleep before he reaches his wits' end. Between Annette's well intentioned sorcery and the archbishop's mysterious intervention, Felix finds himself tumbling into a journey through time and revisiting a relationship that young love might just be able to save.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 15
Kudos: 57
Collections: Sylvix Gift Exchange 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For 2020's Sylvix Gift Exchange!
> 
> I worked from the prompt:
>
>> I would LOVE to see a version where Felix travels back (or forwards) in time and the shenanigans (or angst) that ensue because of that.
> 
> This fic ended up a bit heavier on the angst, but there are certainly some shenanigans sprinkled in as well c; 

“Okay! I think everything is ready!” Annette chirps, her tiny hands clapping together while she bounces on her toes. She’s always so eager and, by now, Felix is accustomed enough to her energy. Today, however, he finds himself rubbing away at tension in his forehead when he lifts his head from the tax reports he’s been reading to see Annette so excited.

Felix hasn’t been sleeping well—the library lounge is decidedly less comfortable than the bed he shares with Sylvain, but _one_ of them has to be the one to walk out. So far, it’s been Felix every night this week, a matter of pithy pride and little more. His hip complains, deep beneath the surface, and his lower back protests his each and every movement with even more fervor. Nonetheless, Felix stands and circles around his desk.

Annette’s books of sorcery litter the floor of his study. To Felix, there is little organization, but he knows Annette well enough to understand that not a thing looks out of place to her.

“The spell uses largely faith magic,” she explains. There’s something cryptic about the way she phrases it, but Felix picks and chooses his battles these days to keep sane. He decides not to worry about it. He trusts her. “The incantation’s base has its roots in—”

“It’s fine,” Felix says. He doesn’t mean to ruin her fun, but it’s not likely that he’ll understand the specifics of her art anyway. Quickly, he apologizes. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I trust you.” He waves off his own rudeness and the background of her spell in a single motion, then holds his arms out beside him until they’re parallel with the plush rug beneath his boots. “Ready when you are.”

Annette’s spell coats him from head to toe, the sensation not unlike warm water spreading across his scalp and pouring down across his shoulders, along the planes and contours of his body until it puddles around his feet.

The soft, white light coating Annette like a saint fades. “You’ll sleep much better tonight,” she says as she slides her index finger in an “x” across her bosom. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“That confident, huh?”

“If this doesn’t work, the school of sorcery in Fhirdiad will have to take back my diploma.” She sets to work snapping her books shut and stacking them in two piles.

Felix assures her that one the estate’s servants will return the books to her guest quarters as the last remnants of magic sink into Felix’s bones. They tingle throughout his limbs and crawl in deeper, invasive, and suddenly he feels nothing at all save for an overwhelming sense of exhaustion. The yawn comes before he can stop it, and Annette is already grinning from ear to ear.

“See? It’s working.”

Felix lifts one eyebrow, skeptical when he falls back into his desk chair and struggles to focus on Annette’s diminutive form framed against the massive window overlooking the Fraldarius estate. The sun is just beginning its descent toward the horizon, but he’ll need to light some candles soon. There’s no way that he can neglect his duties to sleep, and Sylvain will want to eat supper together…

“Yeah, yeah,” Annette says. “I never said it would be easy for the first night or two. But just think how well you’ll rest when you’re so exhausted!” Then, more gently, “It will even out, Felix. You’ll be all right. I’d never steer you wrong, and I wouldn’t travel this far north just to slap you with a sleeping cantrip.”

If only magic like hers could repair a relationship, Felix thinks. With candles lit, he pushes through the mental fog and works late into the night.

He skips supper with Sylvain.

* * *

Felix’s eyes open to a bright morning, something that absolutely does not exist in the dark corner of the Fraldarius library where the heavy curtains have remained drawn ever since Felix began using the space as a second bedroom.

Something is wrong.

Just as Annette promised, his body is light and his mind clear when he sits up and swings his legs over the edge of the mattress—mattress?

Oh, yes. Something is very wrong.

Felix rushes to the window as his brain struggles to piece together what’s happened to him, and he recognizes quickly that this room is familiar. It’s not dissimilar from his dormitory room at the Officer’s Academy…

Sure enough, the view from his bedroom window is far, far from Fraldarius territory. Felix’s face pales as he overlooks a place he didn’t think he would set eyes on again for some time—Garreg Mach monastery. There’s more that’s the matter, though. Felix could never forget the damage that had been done to this place during the war. Since then, of course, elaborate repairs have been made beneath the new archbishop’s direction.

He doesn’t have to look down at the sprawling stone roofs and spires for long to know that the monastery is, without a doubt, how he had known it as a student. He lets blunt nails dig into the skin of his forearm and draw upwards, just enough dull pain to wake him had he been dreaming.

Felix wouldn’t be so lucky.

He glances down at his clothes to find that they haven’t changed and one glance into a smudged looking glass tells him that he has at least maintained his age. He is thankful, at least, that he was too exhausted the night before to care about changing out of his raiment (or even discarding his sword) before retiring to the library and flopping down onto his lounge for sleep. To wander Garreg Mach in anything less would certainly be an embarrassment all its own.

Luckily, the height of his window tells him that he is roomed somewhere on the third floor, far from the majority of the monastery’s bustling activity.

Sitting still and waiting for the rest of this dream or nightmare to come to him is pointless, and so Felix peers out into the hallway. He is less familiar with this part of the monastery than the second floor, where his own room had been, and the lower levels full of classrooms and dining halls and stables and all the other places that had become his home for that year so long ago.

Reluctantly, he descends the stairs on high alert, the palm of his hand curling around the pommel of the sword at his hip.

Wondering whether or not this is a part of Annette’s spell (and even moreso wondering whether she intended this to happen at all), Felix doesn’t let his guard slip even when no immediate threat presents itself. He receives only a couple of hurried nods from servants; otherwise, it’s like he isn't there at all. If not for their brief acknowledgment, Felix would assume that he is invisible in this world, like a ghost wandering the monastery’s stone corridors in search of relief.

It’s not until a familiar face smiles at him and offers a gentle hand that the tension falls from Felix’s body. His shoulders relax, and he feels his jaw unclench.

“Lord Fraldarius.” The archbishop greets him, though they are not the archbishop at all. No, Byleth’s hair is darker, their eyes a largely empty expanse that has yet to lighten with the Creator’s blessing. “It’s lovely to see you here.”

Felix’s throat bobs. It’s the only answer he can muster for some seconds.

“Archbi— Professor?”

“Yes.” Byleth nods knowingly and exchanges a silent glance with Felix. “ _Professor_ , for now. Lady Rhea is the archbishop at this point in time, the Imperial Year 1180.”

Down the stairwell and to the ground floor, Felix follows Byleth in a daze. Everything is exactly the same as he remembers it, down to the areas of the bushes that have been trimmed in an effort to hide the crushed leaves and holes that emerge from the occasional student brawl or, more commonly than one might think, from young lovers' rapid attempts to hide when nearly caught kissing in the garden paths.

Over a tall hedge and through a wrought iron gate, Felix hears the bustling of friendly banter and the clack of wooden swords from around the corner. “Your house often seems the rowdiest,” Byleth laments. Together, they turn the corner so that the professor can acknowledge the chaos.

And that, for better or for worse, is when Felix spots Sylvain.


	2. Chapter 2

With each new person from his past that Felix spots in the courtyard, the clarity of this dream becomes more and more uncomfortable. Knowing that he can be seen has him on edge, and when Byleth beckons him forward Felix only presses his lips into a thin line and indignantly shakes his head.

Instead, he watches from a distance, and his heart catches in his throat when he sees _himself_.

It’s not surprising that he and Dimitri are contributors to the ruckus. Training swords slam together, the sharp noise echoing amongst the stone and hardly softened by the hedges surrounding them. Sylvain is chatting up Annette about who knows what, but she’s not listening. Much more interested in what Mercedes has to say than Sylvain, Annette scribbles something messily onto a piece of parchment before folding it neatly and slapping it into Sylvain’s outstretched palm.

“You acquired a list from the kitchens?”

Felix hears Byleth’s voice amongst the chaos, along with Annette’s enthusiastic assertion that they’ve added a few items of their own so that Mercedes can bake for the house tomorrow, and _please,_ Professor, is that all right?

Graceful and kind as always, Byleth hums their agreement and calls the younger Felix away from his spar with Dimitri that’s becoming more and more violent. “Felix, would you be so kind as to bring these items up from the market for dinner this evening?”

Felix is nearly embarrassed by the way he watches himself sneer and all but slam his training sword into the grass at his feet. In the waking world, Sylvain tells him that he’s still a brat these days, but at least he’s earned his right to be an asshole after years of war and politics. Now, he sees only a bitter, petulant teenager with so much growing to do.

Of course, Sylvain speaks up almost immediately and bends to pick up the sword in an attempt to lighten the situation and soothe Dimitri, too. It’s just like him, the damned peacekeeper.

No wonder he has been making so much more progress with Sreng than his father ever did.

Politely and so smoothly, in the way that Sylvain always does, he asks permission to accompany Felix to the market. He cites some shaky reason like the supplies being too heavy for Felix to carry on his own or some other such unconvincing nonsense, but Byleth nods gracefully with those big eyes full of gentle approval.

A moment later, Sylvain has led them away, skipping from the courtyard.

“You are welcome to accompany them, you know.” Byleth’s soothing voice emerges to push through the complex, myriad emotions twisting through Felix’s mind as he grapples with what he’s just seen.

“It feels wrong,” he says. “T-they’ll know. I’m not invisible to them; Sylvain looked at me more than once.”

Byleth actually laughs, a good-natured sound that Felix misses. “Are you not the best at remaining unseen?”

Felix supposes they’re right—even as a student, stealth had been a gift.

“And I would imagine that Felix Fraldarius, prominent soldier of the Holy Kingdom, the shield of the King, and the Duke of his territory would be much more equipped than the student here who so often sneaks away from duties to spend time with his boyfriend.”

Felix blinks, his gaze wide. Of course he recalls his and Sylvain’s shenanigans, but to feel scolded by his professor from so long ago…

A flush rises to the crests of high cheekbones, and he huffs an acknowledgement before spinning on his heels to follow his younger self and Sylvain away from the remainder of their house.

It’s interesting, if not more than a touch unsettling, to watch himself walk so carefree through the halls and gardens. His face is soft and so round compared to its sharpness now, and from the looks of it, Byleth has been onto him about binding too tightly again. Given Felix’s lean frame, it’s a subtle difference, but one that he can certainly pick out in himself.

No wonder Felix is wearing his academy jacket, a garment he finds tacky enough to avoid at nearly all costs.

The path toward the market is familiar, and Felix remembers it well enough that he’s able to follow himself and Sylvain at a lengthy distance. From back here, he’s no chance of hearing their discussion, but their body language is incredibly easy to decipher.

His younger self’s discomfort with a lack of binding for the day keeps him stiff, but the longer that Sylvain nudges him with his elbow and gestures so wildly, the more and more that Felix watches himself relax. Arms that were crossed tightly across younger Felix’s chest abandon their position in order to swat back at Sylvain, but the attack holds no malice. Actually, is that a _laugh_? Felix rarely laughs, much less out loud, but he swears he hears himself snorting at one of Sylvain’s likely obscene jokes.

The cyclic banter continues. First, there is normalcy—the slight gesturing that comes with typical conversation. Next, Sylvain’s movements become more animated, nearing a crescendo before Felix reacts quickly, sharply, and puts an end to it all. Nearly every time, the pattern ends in laughter, or at the very least a smile.

Just as they reach the gate to the market, the jacket comes off, too. Clothed only in his vest and button-down shirt, Felix looks much more like the way that the whole of the academy (and Felix himself) remember.

“What did we need again?”

The list is rambled off, but as they wander more deeply into the market, Felix finds it increasingly difficult to make sense of what is happening ahead of him. The noise rises around him in chaotic combinations of shouting, bartering, animals clucking and braying, and all other manner of sounds to fill in the gaps.

Annoyed, Felix clicks his tongue against his teeth and settles for allowing himself closer to the pair he is watching. It’s risky, but with the market’s impressive crowd, Felix can’t imagine that he’ll be seen—

“Well, there’s a handsome gentleman I’ve not seen here before.”

Fuck. Sylvain Gautier is much too perceptive for his own good. And lecherous, too.

Sylvain bows deeply. One Felix’s face falls into an expression of blatant embarrassment, while the other’s morphs into something more akin to horror.

“Are you visiting? As one of the more upstanding students here, I would be happy to—”

“Shut _up_ ,” Sylvain’s companion scoffs.

“Look, just because you have a vendetta against more _mature_ men thanks to _your_ old man doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate a guy older than me.”

“Leave him alone.”

“Well, it would be _rude_ not to offer at least a compliment.” Sylvain winks.

“You are utterly hopeless.”

Felix agrees wholeheartedly with the other version of himself on this one. He holds out an arm to keep Sylvain at an appropriate distance and says in a voice that’s too different for either of them to recognize as Felix’s voice a decade down the road, “You’d do well to listen to your friend.” Talking to Sylvain like this (and talking to him like a _father_ , no less) has got to be taking years off his life, but he’s in this too deeply now to pretend that he was never seen.

Sylvain opens his mouth to find a retort, but Felix wants nothing to do with whatever he will have to say. “No,” he says and lifts one eyebrow.

The younger Felix stands a couple of feet back now, arms crossed over his chest again and his shoulders hunched as if he is willing himself to disappear from a situation that is just as bad for him as it is for his older self.

“Oh, come on—”

“ _No_ ,” Felix says more firmly. “Finish your shopping. You’re academy students, aren’t you? Report back to your professor before I inform your superiors that you are disrespecting a noble ten years your senior.” He notes to himself that he deserves some self-congratulations for his acting, but right now he is much too occupied by the look of fear that becomes increasingly apparent on Sylvain’s face.

Felix doesn’t stick around for the apology—he doesn’t think he’ll be able to make it that long without smirking and giving away his entire act. With a quick spin on his heels that sends his cloak swirling around him, he walks with intent toward another stall.

“Geez, I was just fooling around,” he hears Sylvain murmur behind him, while his younger self chastises him in a tone that’s much the same as it will turn out to be years later.

When their conversation turns back to their chores and Felix can no longer feign interest in the goods at the stall he is perusing, he returns toward the monastery. After all of this, he needs to goddamn _think_.

The next several hours allow him plenty of time to return to all of the secret spots he remembers, each one associated with at least two memories of Sylvain that have him huffing with frustration and feeling forced to move on. By the time the sun is setting, he wants nothing more than to retire to his room instead of risk seeing anymore ghosts of his past.

Byleth, seemingly ever present, leads the way with that hint of a knowing smile curling their lip.

* * *

It takes some time for Felix to feel okay with what he’s doing. In the end, he remembers Byleth’s meaningful gaze as they led him back up to his guest room on the third floor, intentionally following him inside and flinging open the window to point out the garden beneath. “I know it’s warmer here than you’re accustomed to, Felix.”

Thank the goddess that Byleth had dropped the fanciful “Lord Fraldarius” by now. Here at the monastery, during a simpler time, it was refreshing to not be reminded of the duties to his territory with every mention of his title.

“The night’s breeze should keep you comfortable.” Mischief glimmered in their eyes when they said, “You would be amazed the memories it may carry along with it.”

Now that they are long gone and Felix has been left alone to sit, deep in thought, on the edge of his bed, he understands exactly what Byleth meant.

It’s not long before voices uncannily familiar travel on the breeze to his ears. Quiet at first, their volumes increase as the voices’ owners approach. They must have settled just beneath the window, then, and Felix pulls from the dredges of his memory one of his and Sylvain’s favorite spots to sneak away and talk past their curfew.

“One of these days, we’re going to get caught,” the little Fraldarius huffs, though it’s clear that he’s catching his breath from laugher. The giggle that bubbles behind his threat is clear, and it takes only a moment more for it to come trickling out.

“And what are they going to do? Give us a curfew? Oh, wait, we already have one—Ow!”

Felix must have hit him. It’s what he would have done now, years later.

The warning brings some caution to their movements, though, and it’s some time before voices can be heard again. When the sounds do return, they are little more than hushed mutters that fail to reach the windowsill of the third floor guest room.

Guilt washes over Felix again, but eventually he hoists himself from the edge of the mattress with a growl and situates himself beside the window. From where he stands, he can just parse the quieter words; more importantly, he can _see_. He peers through the shadows with eyes trained by Faerghus’s long winter nights, and there they are. Felix sees himself, the academy jacket long gone and replaced by a more casual cloak he brought from home. Felix remembers that cloak, how it was ruined with blood during the first days of war.

Then, there’s Sylvain. His face is all sunshine, and isn’t it fitting? Beside him, perched on the corner of a little stone bench that’s clearly made for only one, Felix reflects Sylvain’s brightness like the moon. Without Sylvain, he is pale, dull. With him, his eyes light up and his cheeks glow with affection, with excitement. Again, their conversation diminishes to naught but whispers, but the pause for laughter and the way that their limbs begin to tangle together on that bench suggest just enough.

Felix wonders just how long it’s been since he has looked as alive as this younger version of himself. When did the glow leave him? When did he stop reflecting Sylvain’s contagious light?

With a sinking feeling that pulls his heart low, low into his chest, Felix knows that he lost his glow long before Sylvain stopped shining.

His stomach pulls at him even harder than his heart as he flattens himself against the wall beside his window and cranes his neck to watch. The two young men below him move together so gently when their lips come together at last, when Felix curls his feet up onto the bench beneath him and leans further into Sylvain’s touch.

Sylvain’s hands—long-fingered and confident—find that soft jaw of a Felix from another time. His thumbs rest just beneath Felix’s earlobes, in that soft little spot where Sylvain fits perfectly while the rest of his fingers reach around the back of Felix’s neck to navigate the wisps of hair that have have escaped his bun.

Then, they kiss again.

It’s like a choreographed dance that they’ve performed together a million times already. If they move together so perfectly now, when they’ve only been holding hands and stealing furtive touches for a few months, then what forgotten power must Felix and Sylvain have now?

Felix watches, his breath caught in his throat, as he searches (with more desperation than he would like to admit) for a hint of the spark that’s gone missing. Where is it? _What_ is it?

And how, in the goddess’s name, can he and Sylvain ever find it again?

The kiss is quick to escalate, but Felix turns away from the window and back to his bed once Sylvain’s hand has slipped within the cloak and beneath a thin, white nightshirt.

Byleth was right—it’s so much warmer here than it is in Fraldarius, and Felix needs only a single linen sheet to find the warmth he needs for sleep. The window open, himself and his lover allowing newfound passion to bloom beneath them, Felix drifts just beneath the veil of sleep with Sylvain’s smile heavy on his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this far! Comments and kudos are always appreciated ♥️


	3. Chapter 3

“What the _fuck_ did you do?” Felix hisses when Annette _finally_ opens her door.

Felix awoke back in the library that morning, fully clothed and armed and slouched across a chaise lounge absolutely _not_ made for sleeping, and knew that his experience was more than a dream. Only magic or the will of the goddess herself could have achieved something so real. Byleth had _spoken_ to him, had _known_ him, had _encouraged_ him to see and hear exactly what he needed.

Only an hour or so past dawn, Felix nearly ran through the corridors of his manor until he reached the guest bedroom Annette had chosen for herself.

She wasn’t awake, Felix supposed, but he didn’t care. He had half a mind to burst into her room when she didn’t answer his frantic pounding against the wooden door, but she luckily beat him to it and peeked out through a tiny crack.

“Felix? What are you talking about?” She rubs her eyes with one fist and holds a linen robe tightly around her middle with her other hand as she opens the door more widely.

“The _spell_ ,” Felix hisses. His head swivels frantically from side to side, ensuring that no servants are around to hear him, and Annette frowns.

“You look horrible. It didn’t work?”

“No, Annette, it worked too well. That wasn’t just some sleeping spell. You did something.”

Annette blinks. It could be a product of early morning exhaustion, but Felix thinks it’s more. “I _did_ tell you I made some adjustments to the original—”

That’s it. He’s knows that Annette is keeping something from him, and he’s going to get to the bottom of it even if he has to peer through her tomes of magic and peel apart the incantation himself.

Well, he _thinks_ that he’s going to get to the bottom of it.

Sylvain’s voice echoing down the hall, much too composed and cheery for the early hour, hasn’t sounded so appealing in a long time. Felix remembers with a pull inside his chest the way that Sylvain smiled at him in his dream.

More importantly, he remembers how he watched himself smile back.

“Fe? Are you okay?”

Shit. The last person that Felix wants to see him this frazzled is Sylvain. How the hell is he supposed to explain all of this, much less acknowledge that he skipped supper the night before with the purpose of intentionally ignoring Sylvain?

“Well enough,” he says through gritted teeth, but his voice is far from convincing.

“He didn’t sleep well.” Annette pitches in unexpectedly, tying her robe closed and taking a step out into the hallway. Her feet are bare and her hair unbrushed, and Felix isn’t unaware that this is quite the sacrifice for Annette, the girl who could barely attend to her academy stable chores without a full face of makeup. She shrugs. “Guess my spell didn’t work. I deserve to be told off, really. To think that I can’t even get a simple sleeping spell down by now.”

Felix lets her talk. This is the closest thing to an out he’s going to get. He’ll have to thank Annette later, even if that dream _was_ all her fault and she’ll refuse to tell Felix when he can expect this turmoil to end.

“Oh.” Sylvain hangs his head. The way the corners of his lips turn down into a frown sends a pang shooting hard through Felix’s chest. “Sorry, Felix. I know you’ve been having trouble.” He turns to Annette and does little more than watch.

Whatever look they exchange has Annette stepping quickly back into her room, murmuring something about how she’s got to get ready now and she’ll find them later, and Felix dreads the idea of being left alone with Sylvain before he’s had even the smallest of opportunities to figure all of this out.

“I missed you at dinner,” Sylvain offers into the quietude. “Did you eat?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m worried about you.”

Felix rolls his eyes and turns a half-step away.

“Take a ride with me today. Please?”

_Don’t say it_ , Felix thinks. _Don’t say_ I miss you _._

“We don’t even have to talk,” Sylvain promises. “Just be with me. Let me near you.”

Sylvain might as well be crouching on the ground with some sort of treat, cooing at a frightened animal to come closer. It’s exactly how Felix feels—a tired, washed up, angry stray.

“Fine.”

Felix isn’t sure if he agrees because he wants to or if only to get Sylvain out of his hair.

* * *

Sylvain is already at the stables when Felix tears himself away from paperwork and responding to letters from neighboring territories. He throws on a new set of clothes when he realizes that he hasn’t changed since yesterday, then dons his riding boots and a fur-lined capelet to keep out the encroaching cold of Fall.

From the thin sheen of sweat on Sylvain’s skin and the ruddy flush on his cheeks, Felix suspects he’s been out here for some time doing chores. There are no stable hands around.

“You dismissed them?” Felix asks blandly, in way of a greeting.

“Spending time with Maple helps me think,” Sylvain replies. The black mare whinnies and nudges forcefully into Sylvain’s shoulder until he offers up the second half of an apple and resumes rhythmically brushing over her flank.

Felix hums. He’d ask what Sylvain is thinking about, but it’s a frightening question. He’s not sure he wants an answer.

Sylvain breaks the silence. “How are things inside?”

“Exhausting. I wasn’t raised to be a diplomat. I was raised to be a goddamned _wife_. Nothing could have prepared me for this.” _I don’t belong here._ Felix shakes his head. “The number of letters I’ve thrown into the fire only to replace them with some sniveling, sweet nonsense…”

“For what it’s worth, you’ve done a fantastic job. Fraldarius territory hasn’t burned down or fallen to bandits yet, has it?” Sylvain’s laugh may be loud, but it sounds empty. “You’re too hard on yourself.”

“Yes, well _you_ would do well to spend more time indoors with your own political obligations.” Guilt tears through Felix as soon as he’s said the words. Is he not capable of anything but lashing out? It’s like there’s a filter somewhere between his heart and his mouth, twisting his feelings and knotting them into something cruel just as he parts his lips to speak.

Surprisingly, Sylvain laughs again. Felix can’t imagine why, but it’s all right, he supposes, even if it’s nothing more than a hollow coping mechanism.

Sylvain has a lot of those.

“I remember wanting nothing more than to do my father’s job,” Sylvain sighs. He walks with Felix to grab tack. They saddle up without thinking—the movements have long become instinctual. “I thought it was so incredible the way that he would travel and talk to people, how he got to see Sreng, how there was always business to be done and someone who _needed_ him, you know? I thought it’d feel good to be needed.”

“It doesn’t?”

Sylvain shrugs and hoists himself up onto his horse moments after Felix has done the same. “I don’t know. It’s different than I thought it would be.”

It’s been years since the war. How have Sylvain and Felix not settled into their fathers’ duties yet? Are both of them really such failures, or are they simply discontent? Objectively, Felix knows the answer, but his discontent isn’t limited simply to his work.

With a tiny nudge of his heels, Felix’s horse walks forward and toward the path into the woods that used to be well-worn. When Sylvain first began splitting his time between Fraldarius manor and his own fort in Gautier territory, he and Felix rode this path nearly every day. It was something they looked forward to as a time to crack jokes and kiss in the meadow and drink from the waterskins they would fill with Fhirdiad wine.

Today, they reach the meadow at the trail’s end in silence. There is some peace from the way nature embraces them, but their movements are hollow and their intentions uncertain now.

“Why don’t we talk anymore, Fe?”

There it is.

Felix turns his head and scoffs. “Not this again.” In reality, he knows exactly why he and Sylvain don’t speak, and there’s no one to blame but himself. He resents Sylvain. So often he asks how Felix is doing, but not once has he asked what Felix needs. He has never come knocking at the library door to beg Felix to return to their bed. He hasn’t said a word the times that he’s caught Felix unawares at his desk, head in his hands and eyes red with tears because _this is just too much_.

“I want to see you smile.”

“Yeah, well there’s plenty that I want, too, Sylvain, but we can’t have everything, can we?”

Nothing hurts as badly as seeing the hurt bloom in Sylvain’s eyes. If Felix looks too long, he’s afraid he’ll see the glassy film of tears, so he doesn’t wait. He wants nothing more than to see Sylvain smile, too, and all he can make him do is this.

When he’s turned his horse from the path and set on a trot back toward the manor, Felix’s brain repeats the same four words again and again.

_You don’t deserve Sylvain._

For the rest of the day, Felix can barely see through the memories of his dreams to focus on his tasks. He grouchily assigns smaller duties to stewards and squires and a few other responsibilities to Annette. It’s the least she can do after what she’s started.

Felix considers apologizing.

He thinks that he’d do anything to see that spark between himself and Sylvain again, but like hell he’s going to admit his own wrongdoing. Besides, this can’t all be on him, can it? _Two_ people ruin a relationship the same way that two people make one, right?

A gut feeling (and common sense that Felix would rather ignore) tells him that he’s wrong, but he’s grown very good at dismissing his instincts. It’s been said that stubbornness runs in the Fraldarius family, and Felix is certainly no exception.

Still, he falters, hand not more than an inch from the doorknob to the bedroom he and Sylvain used to share— _his_ bedroom—and sighs when he clenches his fingers into a fist and lets it slam down hard against his hip instead.

No, Sylvain will only want to talk and coddle him, and Felix isn’t ready for that. If only he could have Sylvain’s closeness, his touch, the smell of Faerghus cedar in his hair, without the pity and the talking. Goddess, the _talking_. Felix wants only silence with Sylvain.

Instead, he chooses the easier route—silence with himself. In the library, he stews in it.

Will he dream again, or was last night’s journey simply a fluke? He remembers the depth of Byleth’s expression and the glint in their eyes, considers Annette’s admission to a _custom_ incantation, and expects another visit to Garreg Mach.

For the second night in a row, Felix sleeps in his clothes.

Just in case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope y'all are enjoying this so far!
> 
> Come follow me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/raptor_redeem) for more Sylvix, because I usually can't shut up about them. 😉


	4. Chapter 4

As he suspected he would, Felix awakes in the same monastery bedroom on the third floor. This time, he flings off the sheet covering him and leaps from the bed without hesitation. Byleth. He needs to find the professor.

He flies through corridors (taking little notice of just how barren the hallways seem), down the spiral of stone stairs, and runs toward the Blue Lions common room. His muscles take him there on instinct, the route well etched into his memory even after all this time. Thankfully, he finds Byleth the moment he turns the corner toward the ground level dormitories.

“Professor—”

They smile, though there’s a sadness in their lighter eyes that wasn’t present before. Their hair has found the shade that Felix is accustomed to now and, just as the archbishop does whenever Felix and Sylvain visit Garreg Mach, they hold out their hands as a welcoming gesture. “It’s good to see you again, Felix. Are you afraid?”

Afraid? Why would they think—

Felix hasn’t taken time to think about how he must look, just risen from sleep with bags beneath his deep set eyes and an expression haggard with anxious anticipation. He doesn’t bow, doesn’t take the archbishop’s hand in greeting as a noble should; he only runs a quick hand through his bangs to find that half of his ponytail is no longer gathered by his hair ribbon, the rest of his hair disheveled.

Yes, he understands now why Byleth might sense some unease about him.

“N-no, I just.” He remembers all too well the timeline of events leading up to his final days at the academy, how his graduation never came. Byleth’s hair and eyes tell him all he needs to know. “It’s only been one day—I mean, I didn’t know if I would come back. What I would miss. If—”

Byleth offers a melancholy gesture toward one of the bulletin boards nailed to the academy halls. Pinned to it is a monthly calendar, something that might have been nostalgic had the time not elicited so many awful memories of war just waged by the Empire.

“I’m sorry.” Though it has been many years since Jeralt’s passing and the professor has seemed suspiciously aware of Felix’s dream travels, it feels wrong to not offer his condolences for a death that, according to _this_ calendar, is still quite recent.

Byleth shakes their head, and nothing more—Felix willingly takes the motion as a sign to move on. “Why am I here?” he asks. “Why now?” If they truly do know everything, blessed by the goddess’s omniscience, why does he feel as if he’s dragging every detail from them?

With a sigh, Byleth reaches out for Felix’s hand and takes it delicately within their own. In silence, they lead him back up the stairs he plunged down only minutes prior, then turn toward the second floor dormitory rooms.

“I wish I could join you, Felix,” they suddenly say. “But this is as far as I can go.” They release his hand and stand at the entrance to the hallway, just at the corner, and Felix blinks. _Are they floating?_ He begs his eyes to focus, and yet what he sees does not change. Byleth’s contact with the floor is no more; instead, their toes hover half an inch above ground, and even their outline wavers like a flurry of Faerghus snow in early Fall.

It would be too unsettling to be here alone, to be here _again_ and experience some of the worst moments of his life all over again. He hates to admit it, but Felix needs Byleth to stay with him. All of this is too much, _much_ too much, and if he sees Sylvain again while he’s alone, he doesn’t know if—

“What are you talking about? Come on—”

As Felix reaches forward to pull at their wrist, everything about Byleth ceases, fizzling out of existence and leaving Felix alone. A crack in one of the windows allows a breeze inside, and it whistles eerily past him. This time, it carries no voices of young lovers in gardens, no hushed giggles and the occasional wet sound of a frantic kiss.

He is alone.

Of course. It makes sense now. He remembers the date, and pieces of memory rearrange themselves in his brain. By now, the monastery and the Empire have had their first battle, and Byleth would have been taken by a chasm’s endless darkness.

The monastery’s air is electric with betrayal. Felix remembers how his breath was replaced with adrenaline back then, like every word he uttered was a matter of life and death. In a way, it was. Plans made in those first weeks were critical, when graduation was postponed and remaining students were instructed to offer their lives for the church and promptly pack their belongings after a crippling defeat. The fastest, most reliable messengers were sent to estates and villages across Fódlan in search of parents and guardians. They were to meet their children at the earliest opportunity or, at the least, prepare for them to return home should they not be able to abandon the war effort in their own territories.

Sylvain and Felix’s trip home had been shared.

“Is that everything?” Felix hears Sylvain ask. He peers down the hallway and sees that the door to what used to be his own dormitory room is wide open. The halls are eerily quiet. The doors to other rooms are open, too—a peek in one tells Felix that most students have already left or are being treated in the infirmary after a harrowing battle. Beds are left unmade, books remain scattered across desks.

“Yeah.” Felix hears himself, his voice so different but the cadence tone the same. “I guess. I don’t know. Fuck!”

There’s a dull thud and the airy flutter of crinkled paper. Then, there are tears.

Felix’s stomach turns when he recognizes almost immediately that _he_ is the one crying. The sounds come shrill and unsettling, full of anguish and fear that Felix has always taken such great care to hide. When the same noises muffle, a visceral memory comes rushing back. He can nearly _feel_ when Sylvain embraces him. Though Felix cannot risk edging near enough to the doorway to put them in view, he remembers how they kneel beside one another on the floor, Sylvain’s arms pulling Felix closely to his bosom.

“It’s all right, Fe. We’re gonna be fine.” Sylvain’s voice holds its own remnants of insecurity, but he’s trying his best. Eventually, it works.

Silence returns to the hallway, broken only by the tiniest, “I’m sorry.” If Felix hadn’t already lived this, he wouldn’t have been able to make out the words.

“Hey. Don’t be sorry. You’re okay. Let’s just make sure you’ve got everything you need, okay? The horses are waiting for us.”

A few more moments of shuffling and crinkling paper precede the dull _thud_ of a trunk closing, then the metallic _clicks_ of a latching clasp and a lock set into place. These softer sounds give way to the heavier thud of boots on the ground, and Felix struggles not to stumble over his own feet when he hurries backward. Just in time, he finds a safe space in the shadow of a pilaster as the pair emerges from Felix’s old dorm room and rushes down the hall with a trunk and a few armfuls of other belongings in tow.

Ironically, they both continue to wear their academy uniforms, the ones that will never see graduation day. The ones they’ll never need to wear again. Both of them are so naive, having tasted only their first glimpse of war. Already, their eyes brim with fear.

They’re nearly to the stairwell when Sylvain halts so suddenly that Felix nearly drops the wide trunk in his grasp.

“Felix?” Sylvain stops them both, gently turns Felix’s face with his palm. “Thank you for telling me what you need. If I had known you were struggling to pack, I would’ve come right in. I just thought that maybe you needed time alone—it’s the only reason I didn’t say anything sooner. I promise I was thinking about you. I wanted to help. But I know how you are, and, just—”

Felix pushes at Sylvain’s chest and shakes his head. “It’s fine. It was my fault. I just…got overwhelmed, okay?”

“Yeah. I know, babe. It’s fine.” Sylvain leans down to press a soft kiss against Felix’s forehead. “Promise me one thing?”

Two Felixes share the hot tightening of their throat that comes with pushing down tears before Sylvain says, “Just promise me you’ll let me know if you need help again. Promise me you’ll tell me what you need. I can’t read your mind, Fe.” A laugh punctuates the sentence, then, “And I don’t think I’d want to. But seriously, you’ve got to tell me how I can help, or else I’ll never know.

“All you have to do is say something.”


	5. Chapter 5

Felix rouses much more easily from his dreams the second time. He doesn’t rush to Annette’s room, demanding answers. He doesn’t panic, fearful of where he has woken up or when. He simply lies still, curled on his side into a fetal position so that he can fit his feet on the library lounge, and thinks.

To Annette’s credit, he does feel more rested than he can remember being in weeks, perhaps even months. There is a newfound clarity to his wakefulness that he chooses to bask in—until the moment he recognizes the backdrop of gut-wrenching anticipation.

With the clarity has come an understanding of what he must do to fix this—to fix him, to fix his sleep, to fix _everything_ —and it involves being honest with Sylvain.

He winces when he remembers hearing himself cry in his dormitory room, then pulls his blanket more tightly beneath his chin. Felix had seen battle before enrolling at the officer’s academy; he had even killed a man. Despite this, the empire’s attack on the monastery marked the first time that Felix had ever fought someone he _knew_. He and Sylvain had escaped largely unscathed, but the rest of their fellow students hadn’t been so lucky. Memories of evacuation, screaming, crying all ring through his spine and make way for images even more gruesome as the war continued for those five long years.

Felix hadn’t been able to spend all of that time with Sylvain—far from it. It was during those years that both Felix and Sylvain led charges of their own, managed armies as young generals, and received more and more responsibilities from their fathers. When Rodrigue had been forced to lead troops to protect their territory from the Dukedom, Felix had been left to manage their estate, to track supplies, to rally the few allies who remained.

Sylvain’s time had been spent much the same.

Felix had pined, had tossed and turned at night afraid that he may one day wake up to a message that Sylvain had fallen in battle. Would a body be returned? Or would Sylvain arrive as Glenn had, nothing more than tattered armor and murmured condolences?

Little does he know that he’s been clenching his fists into the blanket until he hears the sharp _pop_ of a seam tearing. “No,” he says aloud when he throws the linen from himself and launches himself from the lounge. He is still bleary eyed, viscerally consumed by his dream, and he steadies himself against a bookshelf before slowing his breath.

He and Sylvain have been through hell, have sacrificed so much to remain together. There is no one else in this world who cares about Felix the way that Sylvain does, who _understands_ Felix like Sylvain does.

No, Felix will _not_ let them crash and burn.

Hot tears sting at his eyes, and instead of waging some self-sabotaging war for the sake of his own pride, he lets them.

Once he’s composed himself, his mind races through what he will do, what he will say. His thoughts are still a jumble when he pushes through the library door to see Sylvain standing just in front of it with his arm extended, as if he was about to come in.

“Oh,” Sylvain chuckles. He rubs the back of his neck, his preferred nervous tic, the same way he always has. “Was trying to decide if I should come in or not. Didn’t want to bother you, but—”

Felix blinks. “Were you…coming to check on me?”

“Sorry. Really. I wasn’t sure if you’d be upset with me, so—”

“No. No, no, no.” Felix shakes his head. “It’s, um. It’s okay.” Isn’t that what Felix has been wanting this entire time? For Sylvain to need him so badly he can’t remain apart? To come see if Felix is okay? “Can we give the trail another try?” Felix asks. He blurts the question bluntly, he knows, but there’s no space for eloquence anymore. With each passing moment that Felix does not fix this, he fears that Sylvain will finally give up on him and seek out solace elsewhere. Felix _knows_ that he’s hard to get along with. He knows how much effort Sylvain devotes to maintaining their relationship.

“That’s what love is,” Sylvain has reminded Felix in the past.

_If this is what love is, I’m going to do my Saints damned part._

“The trail? _Our_ trail?” Sylvain clarifies.

“Yeah.” Felix’s eyes shift from side to side as he struggles to maintain more than fleeting eye contact. Each time he looks into Sylvain’s eyes, he sees the hurt. It’s buried deep, but to Felix, it’s clear as day. “I feel bad about leaving you yesterday. I’d like to try again, if you can find the time.”

Sylvain’s face twitches into an expression that Felix knows well. Sylvain may be doing all he can to maintain that serious expression, to let Felix know that he’s listening and taking all of this to heart, but he can’t help but smile. His eyes light up, too, and soon Sylvain is beaming as he reaches forward to brush a loose strand of Felix’s sleep addled hair behind his ear. “I think the real question is whether _you_ can find time, mister Duke Workaholic.”

Felix shakes his head. “Yes. This is my priority today.”

It hurts a little to see the surprise flash across Sylvain’s face, then to feel the sheer excitement radiating throughout the hug that Sylvain wraps him in. Having Felix put him first shouldn’t come as a shock, but it does.

 _It’s okay_ , Felix tells himself. _I’m going to fix this._

The warmth in Sylvain’s smile goes straight to Felix’s heart and takes hold. Felix doesn’t think he’ll ever be free of the power that Sylvain’s smile has over him, but does he _want_ to be free? If this is what being a prisoner feels like, Felix will happily remain in chains for the sake of Sylvain’s affection.

“So…Can we go now?” Sylvain asks. Felix glances down to see Sylvain bouncing a little on his feet like a child on any holiday morning. “It’s already past noon.”

 _Shit._ How did Felix manage to sleep so late? With the heavy curtains drawn in the library, he had no idea.

Felix nods. As they walk together down the hallway, he tugs at the ribbon keeping remnants of his ponytail in place and brushes his fingers through his hair to soothe the tangles before tying it back up again.

“It’s getting so long,” Sylvain muses. His voice is distant, far away, full of adoration.

“Do you like it?”

“Yeah. Love it.”

The smell of bread straight from the oven takes them on a detour to the kitchen on their way to the stables, and Felix splashes his face with water from the nearest basin. While he’s scrubbing at his tired eyes and the oil on his skin, Sylvain packs them a bundle of two loaves. Sneakily enough to avoid drawing the attention of the kitchen staff but just obvious enough to make sure that Felix sees, he slips a bottle of wine from the rack into the satchel as well. “Like old times!” he whispers.

Oh, yes. The past two mornings, Felix has known all about old times.

Thankfully, Sylvain doesn’t allow any of their time together to be awkward; Felix feels stupid for being so afraid, for avoiding this so long. No, they haven’t gotten to the hard stuff yet, but Felix should have known that having a conversation with Sylvain would always be the same no matter how long they spent apart or how often they fought or how much anything else tried to stand in their way.

They’ve just mounted their horses and set off away from the stables when Sylvain asks, “Did Annette tell you that the archbishop visited Fhirdiad just before she left to come here? Taught her some new magic that’s not even been written down in the library at the School of Sorcery.” Sylvain laughs, but Felix hones in on what he’s saying like a hawk and swallows hard. “It’s just like Byleth. They’ll always be a little bit of a professor, I guess.”

Felix hums, just to make sure that Sylvain knows he’s listening, but most of his mind is elsewhere.

“She told me all about that spell she tried out on you, too. Something for sleep, but better, she said. Something that gets to the heart of the problem or whatever. Damn. Magic is pretty cool. I kinda wish I’d paid more attention to it back at the academy…”

“Wait, what did you say?”

They pass onto the trail, just under a couple of trees whose branches cross into a familiar archway.

“About what? Oh, that I had some regrets about the academy? Yeah, what else is new, right?”

“No.” Felix shakes his head. “About the spell.”

“Oh! Yeah. Didn’t she tell you? It’s not _technically_ for sleep, but something deeper. Something that won’t instantly help you rest but is supposed to lead you toward a resolution and a more permanent solution. Sounds stupid complicated to me. I’m not surprised that even Annette hadn’t heard of a spell like that until the archbishop taught her.”

 _Huh_. Well, that certainly explains a lot.

“You think Byleth will have something to teach us the next time we visit? It’s been so long since we’ve been to Garreg Mach. Do you ever miss the monastery?”

Felix has to forcibly remind himself not to laugh at the irony of Sylvain’s question. Instead, they reminisce, and their conversation is almost normal.

Almost.

Once they reach the meadow at trail’s end, all is as it used to be. The loaves are gone in an instant, delicious and kept warm by the cloths that Sylvain wrapped them in before tucking them into his satchel. The wine flows quickly enough, too, despite it being only mid-afternoon by the time they’ve finished it off. As refreshing as their conversation has been, Felix is saddened when it doesn’t feel as light and carefree and hopeful as the past times they’ve enjoyed time together in this very spot.

Instead, the joys of conversation are bogged down with worries that latch to the back of Felix’s mind. He has things to say, has to apologize and set things right, and he’s running out of time. He can’t put this off any longer.

“Sylvain?”

“Mm?”

“We need to talk.”

Sylvain laughs. “We _are_ talking, Fe. What’s up?”

Of course. That’s just like Sylvain. Felix rolls his eyes. “Yes, but I mean that there’s something _serious_ I want to bring up. It can’t wait.”

Felix finds himself torn. Does he mention the dreams? What’s led him to his conclusion? He doesn’t doubt that Sylvain will believe him, but he thinks for now that he prefers to keep his revisitation of those moments to himself. There’s something special about them, cherished, like the memories were handpicked from his brain and offered to him precisely when he needed them most. Even Annette is unlikely to understand the exact ways in which her spell brought Felix to a resolution.

For now, they will remain his and Byleth’s secret.

“All right.” Sylvain dusts his hands off on the fronts of his pants, crosses his legs, and leans forward. “What’s on your mind?”

 _Breathe_. In. Out. Apologizing shouldn’t be so difficult, but here he is struggling to breathe before he can muster the courage.

“I’m sorry.”

The words hang heavy in the air, but Felix’s frame feels lighter than it has in a long time.

“I’m sorry for just self-destructing like I have been. It’s not really your fault. I mean, I don’t think it is. Maybe you annoyed me or something, but the way it’s escalated…the way I reacted was my responsibility. I was tired. I still am. I took it out on you.”

Sylvain’s eyes are wide, his face indicating in every way possible that Felix is his world right now and that he’s absorbing every word said.

“I guess that’s all. I’m sorry for not telling you what I need. For not asking for help. I’m so _fucking_ bad at that. I didn’t even know that I needed help until I was drowning in those treaty negotiations, and then when you brought it up in bed one night I just couldn’t anymore and—”

For better or for worse, Sylvain lets him talk until Felix has rambled on for long enough that he’s no longer sure where he started or where the ending was supposed to be.

“It’s stupid, I know, but I held it against you when you didn’t chase me into the library that first night, when you didn’t beg me to come sleep with you again. When you didn’t ask me why I was crying when you walked in on me in the office. I told myself that it meant you didn’t care.” This seems as good a stopping place as any.

Felix waits in the silence that Sylvain is likely granting him in the event he wants to talk more. Eventually, he catches Sylvain’s kind gaze and shrugs, a silent _that’s all_.

To Felix’s great surprise, Sylvain lifts from his position seated on the ground. Felix thinks that Sylvain might be following Felix’s example from yesterday—leaving—but Sylvain isn’t like that. Instead, he offers his hand to Felix to help him stand, then bends at his knees to wrap his arms just beneath Felix’s buttocks. Felix’s feet leave the ground when Sylvain straightens, and their lips come together in a chaste kiss that has Felix’s insides fluttering like he’s a teenager in the garden again.

“I love you, Felix.”

Pushing through thoughts of _I don’t deserve it_ , Felix murmurs, “Love you, too.”

“And I forgive you.”

Felix pushes his forehead against Sylvain’s and just breathes in his scent, lets the hand not supporting himself against Sylvain’s shoulder trail along a strong jaw and play with a curl of red hair.

When Sylvain finally sets him down, they wander toward their horses in silence until Felix says, “I just want things to be the way they were, like these past two months never happened.”

“If you learn to tell me what you need when you need it,” Sylvain says, “I think we can do that.” His smile is almost mischievous.

Their ride back is less about the past and all about the future. Instead of reliving old memories, Felix recounts what he wants to change. He and Sylvain empathize about the difficulties of their positions. Felix explains that his more abrasive personality has negatively affected his leadership style and asks Sylvain for pointers or where he feels comfortable stepping in as margrave.

By the time they’ve watered their horses and begun their trek back toward the manor hand in hand, Felix and Sylvain have thoroughly embarked on their plans for the future.

“Logistically, there are still months when we’ll need to be apart,” Sylvain says.

The sadness in his voice matches Felix’s feelings on the matter, but then an idea sparks in Felix’s brain and begins to smolder. “Not,” he says carefully, “If we merge our territories.” Felix knows that it’s a crazy idea, but it’s no less bold than some of Sylvain’s own political decisions have been in the past. If there’s anything that Felix and Sylvain are not, it’s traditional.

Sylvain hums, and Felix thinks his palm is probably sweaty. He wonders if Sylvain has noticed.

“At the very least,” Felix hurries to supplement, “We should consider creating a more permanent workspace for you here. My office is plenty large enough to accommodate another desk, or if you’d like a more private—”

“No. No, wait. A merge _isn’t_ a horrible idea, and you know I’d tell you if it was.” Sylvain winks.

They pass through the front door and into the manor’s foyer. Annette is bustling down the stairs in the hurried way she always does, the swishing of her long skirts almost tricking the eye into imagining that she could be floating, small and fairylike, to the ground floor.

Felix catches her staring at him, notices that her gaze lowers to their entwined fingers. While Sylvain weighs pros and cons out loud, Annette smiles, and Sylvain and Felix ascend the stairs, hand in hand for the first time in weeks and willing to give it all another try.


	6. Epilogue

Three months have passed since Felix returned to his own bedroom, sleeping soundly each night within Sylvain’s warm embrace.

They sit across from one another in the office now occupied just as frequently by both of them, when messages are delivered for the day. Felix is quick to pick up one parchment rolled and sealed with the insignia belonging to the Church of Seiros.

_My personal congratulations and best wishes from the Church of Seiros regarding the movement to merge territories Fraldarius and Gautier._

_It was a pleasure to witness your dreams firsthand, Felix. Thank you for allowing me to participate in something so intimate. I do hope that you and Sylvain are doing well and that the next time I see you, it will be in the present rather than the past._

_May the goddess continue to guide you in the now, the to-come, and the has-been. You both are missed dearly in Garreg Mach._

_Yours adoringly,_

_Byleth_

“Anything for me?” Sylvain murmurs as his eyes glaze over messages of his own.

“Mm-mm.” Felix sighs with a smile and carefully tucks the note away into a drawer, then peers back up to Sylvain and his brow so furrowed with concentration.

_Sylvain Gautier, my past, my present, and my future._

_Thank you, Byleth._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we have it! I hope you all have enjoyed the updates, even as rapid as they have been and without a set posting schedule. Thank you for reading all of the way through!

**Author's Note:**

> Every comment and kudo is a like a little treasure to me!
> 
> Come find me [on Twitter](https://twitter.com/raptor_redeem) for more FE3H writing and Sylvix shenanigans.


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